


Debut

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Omega!America, Oneshot, Rating for a few swears, Sweet and Sentimental, UKUS, Unplanned Pregnancy, alpha!england
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Alfred had always wanted kids someday. When he felt ready.Someday is here, whether he's ready or not.(Fluffy oneshot of a pregnant Omega!America)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	Debut

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> A few swears  
> Mention of nausea/vomiting  
> This is an unplanned pregnancy story, in a lighthearted tone - avoid if this is a sensitive topic.

It's actually not until he misses his period a _second_ time that Alfred realizes something is up.  
  
It's the end of the semester, though, and he's just wrapped up his thesis and paid for his overpriced robes and he's got to buy special graduation shoes, get a haircut, and let Mattie take pictures of him in all of it. So he shrugs, figures it's just stress, and puts off dealing with it.  
  
It’s not like he'll get any less pregnant or anything if he ignores it, haha, what a funny joke. Because there's no way he's pregnant. Not possible.  
  
He waits until he needs milk to buy the test so he can pretend it's all he's there for. Oh, pregnancy tests? I mean, why not? Just to rule it out. Damned expensive joke. He leaves them on the bathroom counter and plays video games for eight hours straight.  
  
So it's 3 in the morning when he finally takes the test, when the little red line appears like the world's tiniest fuck you.  
  
The box says 99% accurate and Alfred trusts the numbers, he really does, but there were two in the box so he does it again, and there it is again, an itty-bitty middle finger from the world.  
  
Oh, haha, whoops.  
  
He screams so loud his neighbor calls the cops.

* * *

  
  
His brother says "Congratulations" and if Alfred weren't housing a tiny beating heart he would put him in a chokehold. Congratulations, really? All smarmy and gooey-eyed like the prick he is.  
  
He gasps when he hears he's two months along, two months, really, are you sure? Sure as shit, doctor said so. Doctor also said he might experience fatigue, nausea, and heartburn. He hadn't experienced them, until the doctor had brought them up.  
  
Now he _felt_ pregnant, like an all-over transformation. 99% pregnant.  
  
That stubborn 1% clung to unreality hard enough to keep him pacing Matthew's living room when his brother asked the dreaded question, in the same tone as all the others—excited, concerned, amused.  
  
"Have you told Arthur yet?"

* * *

  
See, it wasn't necessarily that bad. He was out of school, he had a permanent job, maternity leave, a good paycheck. He'd always wanted kids, someday. Someday had just come quicker than expected.  
  
He could get excited about it, would get excited about it, was, honestly, already pretty excited about it, except. Except.  
  
He had no idea what Arthur would think.  
  
They weren't married, weren't mated, hadn't even talked about it beyond maybes and I-wouldn't-minds. They'd only been dating six months, technically, officially, but he'd been the alpha-next-door for forever, and fuck, Alfred loved him.  
  
He couldn't stand it if this— _this_ , this life, 99% Arthur's fault, numbers be damned—screwed it all up.  
  
So.  
  
It's not until the day before his 10 week ultrasound that Alfred sits his boyfriend down, determined, courageous. He can do this. He’s going to do this.

He immediately bursts into tears.  
  
Arthur cradles him to his chest and kisses his head and neck and coos at him, and Alfred doesn't recover, just feels like he'll throw up if he tries to speak. So he pulls 'plan B' (fucking ha, hilarious jokes) from his bag and pushes the envelope with the used pregnancy test into Arthur's hands.  
  
Arthur says "What's this?" before he opens it.  
  
Arthur says "Oh dear god in heaven.” after he opens it.  
  
He's very, very happy, he says so, all kisses and warmth and love, green eyes filled with tears.  
  
When Alfred tells him how far along he is already, he's less happy.  
  
When he tells him they'll get to see the baby tomorrow, he's happy again.  
  
Alfred thinks he's got away with it until later that night, when they’re cuddled together and Arthur’s long fingers are drawing careful little circles on his belly, and he asks him, quietly, cautiously, why he hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him.  
  
Alfred does cry hard enough to puke that time, and Arthur, in a moment of newfound fatherly wisdom, let's it go.

* * *

He’s 6 months pregnant when he realizes he’s going to have an actual living, breathing, crying, pooping newborn take over his life.

He feels less a person and more a suit of skin wrapped around another human being who keeps kicking him in the goddamn organs. Up until now, that hadn’t stopped him from doing all the things he’d normally do, minus drinking beer and caffeine and doing extreme sports.

The realization makes him unsteady, though, and for once in his life, he calms down a little. Much to the relief of everyone around him.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of it all.” Arthur tells him, and Alfred _hadn’t_ been worried but maybe now he was.

“I can change my hours around so I’m here to help when Arthur’s out. I’ll support you as much as possible.” Mattie promises, and Alfred hadn’t even considered doing this by himself, being alone, and the thought scares him.

Everyone is so excited, sentimental, impatient. Thinking about the future. They ask him what kind of genitals his baby has.

Haha, I dunno, we want to be surprised, he says, and everyone thinks that’s cute and quirky, but _they_ quite sensibly found out ahead of time. To paint the nursery, and buy the _right_ things, of course.

The nursery is amazing, though, green like Arthur’s eyes (he doesn’t care about the gender or nature but oh god, let it have those eyes) with little animals marching below the crown molding. There are literal piles of designer baby clothes courtesy of overzealous “Uncle” Francis.

There are loads of diapers (nappies, Arthur says) hand-woven blankets from Arthur’s mother (Nanny, not Granny, she had requested, pleased as punch) and even a high-tech stroller (pram) all the way from Japan.

There are fancy learning toys from Gilbert and the crib from Mathias, and so many hand-me-downs from Liz and Roderich he hasn’t gone through it all yet. The changing table is set up, there are baby bottles in the cabinet, baby books lining the shelves of the empty nursery.

Everything in its place, just no baby yet.

At night, he dreams he’s in the wings, the star of a stage show he didn’t rehearse. He misses his cue, and the actors start calling for him, but he can’t go on, he doesn’t know his role.

He isn’t ready.

* * *

Four days before his due date, Alfred starts having contractions in the frozen food section of the grocery store. He is _not_ giving up his sale price T-bone, so he waits. Once they’re home and his precious food is tucked away, he cheerfully tells Arthur the baby is coming.

Good thing they’ve got red meat, he figures, because Arthur looks downright bloodless.

It's nearly eight hours later, 2:45 AM, when Matthew rouses Arthur from a fitful doze to tell him it's actually time, now.

Alfred is wide-eyed, ruddy-cheeked, shiny tear tracks gleaming in the harsh yellow spotlight above the bed. His lips are chewed and trembling, and Arthur admonishes them both for not waking him sooner.

They roll their eyes at this; for all Alfred’s a sight, and Matthew’s a timebomb, Arthur’s one misstep from admission in the general hospital across the street.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, my dear.” Arthur murmurs continuously, until Alfred squeezes his hand. The nurse is moving things about. It’s all very calm, unhurried, no big production.

Matthew takes his other side, his other hand. “It’s almost showtime!” The doctor says as he comes in, smiling widely.

“This is all your fault.” Alfred tells Arthur, because he feels he’s supposed to.

Arthur kisses his shiny, sweaty cheek and whispers things into his ear, ridiculous, lovely things, outrageous promises Alfred almost believes.

When the next contraction comes they’re all in their places, and he’s so afraid. _You can never be ready,_ so he’d heard.

But Alfred is ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully not too dramatic, I was going for lighthearted.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Your comments keep me writing. <3


End file.
